Piano Boy
by DeliverUsFromEvie
Summary: Lucy has a few song requests for Schroeder. He's not impressed.


It was nine o' clock on a Saturday.

Nine A.M. on a Saturday morning, that was. And while most children would take this day off school as an opportunity to sleep in as late as possible, that was not the case for Schroeder. He had woken up, his fingers itching to play a song and spend the morning practicing his beloved piano.

So, he rolled out of bed, brushed his teeth, got dressed, and did just that. He first began with one of his favorite pieces, _6 German Dances_ , by none other than the king of classical music himself, Ludwig van Beethoven.

By the time he had reached the third movement—Werke ohne Opuszahl forty-two, number three in the key of F—another person had joined him. A head of black hair was visible in his peripheral view. He didn't bother to look up.

Of course it was just his luck that Lucy, of all people, would also be awake at nine A.M. on a Saturday morning, and in the neighborhood. "Good morning, Schroeder," she greeted sweetly.

Oh, how he wished his parents would lock the front door for once. "Hi," he replied curtly.

"Well, aren't you up early," she remarked.

Schroeder, true to character, ignored her and kept on playing.

"It's certainly a wonderful day to sit and listen to such a cute boy play his piano. I can't imagine spending this morning doing anything better."

Schroeder continued to not reply. He had now reached number four, in A major. In fact, he made it all the way to number six in G major before Lucy felt the need to open up her big mouth again.

"I'm tired of this song," she announced. "Play something else. Play 'Piano Man.'"

Schroeder finger slipped, creating a very off-tune sound, and he immediately stopped playing. "' _Piano Man'_?!"

"Yeah. You know, 'Piano Man.' That song. You know—'sing us a song, you're the piano man, sing us a song tonight'—why don't you play that? You are, in fact, the piano _boy_."

"' _Piano Man'_?!" Schroeder repeated.

"Yes. 'Piano Man,' by Billy Joel. You _do_ know who Billy Joel is, don't you? He's a musician famously known for playing the piano—"

"I _know_ who Billy Joel is!" Schroeder exclaimed in annoyance.

"So, I presume you know his songs, then. His songs are rock music. Not like that classical stuff you always play."

"I am not playing Piano Man!" The boy balled his fists. "I don't _play_ rock music! And I _definitely_ don't play…" He lifted his piano up and slammed it back down, effectively flinging Lucy off of it. "... _Billy Joel_!"

Schroeder cracked his knuckles, and proceeded to play a rendition of Beethoven's _Piano_ _Sonata No. 8 in C Major_.

Lucy walked back over to the piano, unscatched. "Well, why not? You don't think Billy Joel is a good musician? He's made an awful lot of money making music and playing his piano. I think that counts for something."

"I never said Billy Joel wasn't a good musician," Schroeder said sternly, "but what he _really_ is a sell-out. A big sell-out! Playing a piano isn't about making money or being successful, it's about the art! Art! Art! Ar—"

"I _get_ it, the art!" Lucy scowled. "Don't you start that again with me! You're hopeless, Schroeder. Simply hopeless."

Schroeder rolled his eyes. Incidentally, the sonata he played had grown in intensity in time with their conversation.

After the piece had calmed down a bit, Lucy glanced up at him again.

"Okay, so maybe you don't play rock music. But why is it always Beethoven with you? Beethoven this, Beethoven that. At least expand your classical music horizons a little, Schroeder. Play some Chopping or something every once in a while."

Schroeder stopped playing. "Chopping? You mean _Chopin_?" he exclaimed.

"Oh, whatever! They're all the same anyway! Just a bunch of old, dead guys who wrote music a long time ago!"

Schroeder bit his tongue. He began to tap out Chopin's _Nocturne Op. 9, No. 2_ , in an attempt to appease her. Not that he was concerned about appeasing her or anything. It did, in fact, keep her silent for a couple of blissful minutes.

But then she opened her mouth again. "You know how you told me Beethoven was a lifelong bachelor, and that meant _you_ had to be a lifelong bachelor? Well, get a load of this. Billy Joel has been married _four_ times. Four! Who said you had to be single all your life in order to be a successful musician, hmm?"

Schroeder ignored her.

"Schroeder, I have to ask you. When we get married, do you think I'll be your first wife, or your second? Or your third? Or your fourth?"

"I can honestly tell you, Lucy," Schroeder groaned, "that I haven't thought that far ahead yet."

Lucy smiled. "Well, whatever number I am, you can be certain that I'll be your last. Because _our_ love is destined to last forever."

"Mmmph," responded Schroeder.

A couple more minutes passed.

Lucy had soon grown tired of Chopin.

"Do you honestly refuse to play any Billy Joel song? Not even 'We Didn't Start the Fire,' or 'Only the Good Die Young'?" Lucy asked incredulously. "When will you realize, Schroeder, Vienna waits for you?"

Once again, Schroeder did not respond to her.

Lucy scoffed. "Some piano player you are. You know, Billy Joel has a lot of love songs, but Beethoven doesn't really have any."

"That's because Beethoven didn't care about love," Schroeder emphasized. "His songs were written with passion, rage, and fury, because those were the emotions he felt most of the time."

"Why would a guy like Beethoven, a tired old piano player, feel _those_ emotions in particular?"

"One can only speculate," Schroeder replied sarcastically.

"Well, I want you to write and play love songs, Schroeder. Write a love song about me. Play a love song right now."

Why he was doing what she asked, he hadn't the slightest idea, but the boy began to play one of Beethoven's arguably most romantic pieces—as romantic as a lifelong bachelor could ever get, of course—a little piece called _Für Elise_.

Schroeder had only gotten a few bars out, though, before Lucy put an end to it. "Stop! Stop! Play _anything_ but that!" she snapped, grabbing her head with both hands.

"I am not your puppet," Schroeder proclaimed...and then launched into Beethoven's _Fantasia op. 77._

"But you sure are my piano boy," Lucy said, suddenly having gone back to admiring the boy mesmerically.

Schroeder rolled his eyes, and then once again concentrated them on his piano.

"You know, a true gentleman would care about what their audience wanted them to play, _if_ they wanted their audience to stick around."

Schroeder's lack of response actually seemed to make Lucy angrier this time around.

"Do you want me to stick around, Schroeder? Because it seems more like you just want me to leave. Is that what you really want? Do you want me to leave?"

"If you did, I wouldn't object," he said.

Lucy huffed. "This is why you'll have so many ex-wives, Schroeder! You're too ambivalent on things! You're not supposed to let me get away, you're supposed to beg for me to stay!"

Several seconds passed. Contrary to Lucy's desires, Schroeder did no begging of any sort.

"Fine. You might think you and your Beethoven are going to win this, but I'll have you know, I never give in." She slid back down, arms crossed. "...I just change my mind sometimes."

Lucy, Schroeder acknowledged, was quite hard to please. Persistent. Stubborn. Although, he admitted, the company wasn't always terrible. She _was_ frequently kind.

"Beethoven, though…" Lucy spat. "I can't believe somebody could spend their whole life caring so much about _Beethoven_."

And suddenly cruel.

Schroeder's fingers flubbed. Well, they didn't _flub_ , necessarily, rather, _Fantasia_ began to shift slowly into a new melody. It went _E flat, B flat_...

"Never mind," Lucy rose. "I'm going home. Maybe there's something good on TV."

She could do what she pleased, she was nobody's fool.

 _A flat, A flat major, B flat..._

"Goodbye, Schroeder," Lucy said. "See you at school on Monday. Or perhaps at the baseball game tomorrow, if you can take time out of your very busy schedule of worshipping an old dead musician to come play a game with us."

"See you around," Schroeder replied flatly, although he didn't look up.

 _E flat, B flat, G..._

The door slammed behind her. That's when Schroeder finally decided to raise his head.

Lucy, he had decided, a very long time ago, was an odd one. But, for some reason, she couldn't be convicted. No matter what she did, she got off scot-free. She'd earned her degree, she was a practicing doctor, after all. And the most she would do is throw shadows at you, but…

 _...C minor, B flat._

...she's always a woman to me.

Schroeder lifted his hands in horror as the reality of what he had unconsciously begun to play setting in. He covered his face with both hands and groaned.

" _Good grief_!"

The End


End file.
